


If These Roots

by clawstoagunfight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Scott, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Intense Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles wakes Scott up and gets to take his time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If These Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [thewolfthatwrites](../users/thewolfthatwrites/pseuds/thewolfthatwrites).
> 
> I just really love Sciles, okay.

The early morning air drifts in through the open window, bringing with it the smell of crisp, dying leaves and fresh dew. Stiles opens his eyes slowly, listening to the birdsong outside as the other creatures greet the breaking day. The room is flooded with rose-gold light, the curtains of the window billowing in the autumn breeze. Hints of frost in the air send shivers down Stiles’ naked back and he presses closer to the body he’s half-lying on top of, soaking in the warmth of skin on skin.

The other man’s breathing is still even with sleep. Stiles lifts his cheek from its resting place on the man’s chest to look at him. A slow, easy smile spreads over Stiles’ lips. He loves Scott like this, face slack and relaxed, stuck in the world of dreams. He always looks so innocent, like the pureness that’s inside of him finally shows its face, and Stiles is in awe, always in awe that he gets to see this.

Scott. His Scott. Stiles lifts himself onto an elbow and traces the smooth lines of his face—lips, eyes, forehead. He flits his fingers along the other man’s jaw, down his neck, sweeps the pad of his thumb over the pulse in Scott’s throat, just to remind himself that he’s real, that this isn’t some waking dream that he’s lost in. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought a dream was real.

But this isn’t a dream, and when Stiles shifts his hand to cup the back of Scott’s neck and brings his mouth down to press softly, sweetly, feather-light against Scott’s lips, he breathes a sigh of relief, peppering small kisses to his eyelids, the curve of his eyebrows, cheeks, the corners of his lips, until Scott slowly starts to stir awake.

Brown eyes. Blinking. Like earth. Deep. Roots twisting, pulling. Warm and wet—Scott kisses him back. Sighing contentment. Birdsong. Crinkling leaves. Whispering wind. Smiles bright as the morning sun.

“Hey,” Scott’s sleep-rough voice whispers against his lips, eyes closing for another moment as he runs his hands up and down Stiles’ naked back, warming his skin with their familiar path.

A smile. Eskimo kiss. Just as quiet, afraid to break the dream-reality, “Morning.” Stiles shifts, rolls to his side, brings Scott with him. Stiles loves when Scott’s like this—pliant, tranquil, clay-like—letting Stiles move him and mold him until Scott’s just how Stiles wants.

Stiles catches Scott under his thigh, pulling until the other man’s leg is resting over his hip. Long fingers stroke over the back of Scott’s thigh, fingers lightly trailing, a barely-there touch that he knows does more to the werewolf than rough, clawing nails. Strokes like pendulums—up, down, up, down, barely cresting—until Scott shifts, his own hands moving to Stiles’ shoulders, down over the curve of his biceps, holding at the elbow.

Dark eyes to darker ones. Depth like the sea. Honey brown and chocolate. Sweet like September.

Stiles’ fingers trail back up, finding the curve of Scott’s ass, splaying his fingers out, measuring the feel of it in his hand. Soft, smooth skin. Warm like the rest of him. He kneads his fingers into the clay-like flesh, wishing to mold, to leave some sort of shape or mark, but he knows he can’t. A fingertip sweeps between the cheeks, ghosting over puckered flesh, circling muscle, just to feel, just to hear Scott’s breath as it catches in his throat, to see as he bites his bottom lip.

Stiles leans closer, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his jaw, dragging his lower lip up, capturing Scott’s lips once again. “Scott,” he says when he pulls away to breathe, “So beautiful. Want you. Always want you.”

And he does. He wants Scott like air, needs him in a way that he’s never needed another person. The need is always there, just below the surface. It never goes away, but Stiles doesn’t ever want it too, because he knows Scott feels the same, can tell by the way Scott’s eyes blacken, until just an imperceptible ring of chocolate brown is left to surround it. Stiles wonders if one day he’ll get lost in those black holes, but then Scott is opening his mouth, his perfect, sweet mouth. “Yes.”

So Stiles moves, reaches out for the lube he keeps in the bedside drawer. He shifts the leg over his hip higher up, spreading Scott more, before he uncaps the lube and warms some between his fingers. “I wanna make you feel good. Need to make you feel good.” He whispers the words and the promise into Scott’s shoulder, hooking his chin there to get a better view as he brings his lube-slick fingers back to Scott’s ass.

He goes back to the same tentative touches, the barely-there stokes at the cleft of his ass. He snakes his other hand under Scott’s body to pull his cheeks apart. He spreads his slick fingers over Scott’s puckered entrance, listening to the little breathy sounds Scott tries to muffle against Stiles’ neck. Stiles circles the rim again and again, until he can feel Scott relaxing in his arms. Only then does he press a fingertip against the muscle, groaning as it sinks into the tight warmth that is Scott.

This is Stiles’ favorite part, is always his favorite. Stiles loves opening Scott up, loves it because he always gets to take his time. Scott’s always so tight—always just like the first time years ago when both of them were virgins. It’s deceiving; Stiles has fucked Scott too many times to count, but his body always feels new, unused, tight like a virgin. It’s a challenge that always drives Stiles a little crazy, knowing that he’s the one that gets to do this, open Scott up on his tongue or fingers until he’s begging.

So Stiles presses his index finger in a little further, moving it in and out until Scott takes him to the knuckle. Stiles moans when Scott tightens around him, his cock twitching where it’s trapped between their bodies and he can’t help but rut a little against Scott’s own hardness, the friction enough to make Scott whimper. Stiles works the finger until Scott loosens just a little, until he can work in another long finger. Scott takes it like he has a hundred times before, even as his body tenses infinitesimally, until Stiles rocks their hips together again and Scott shudders under the onslaught of sensation.

The fingers inside of Scott scissor and twist, moving and stretching until Stiles flicks his wrist to better the angle and they press against Scott’s prostate. Scott’s body trembles, the fingers still clasped on Stiles’ arm dig in for a moment and Scott gasps, letting out the air in a broken pant.

“Stiles,” the word is barely audible but Stiles hears it anyway, crooking his fingers to rub harder, holding Scott tighter as his back arches and his hips bucks. Scott is like a livewire and it makes Stiles catch his own lungful of air. Stiles pulls his fingers out and ignores the whimper of protest from the other man. He finds the lube bottle again and adds a little more to his fingers before he’s pressing three fingers into Scott. The other man moans and Stiles can feel the wetness of Scott’s precum between their bodies. It doesn’t take Stiles long to find Scott’s prostate again. Scott keens—a high, needy sound that goes right to Stiles’ cock. “Stiles,” Scott whimpers his name. “I need you.”

Stiles just nods against Scott’s shoulder, thrusting his fingers a couple more times until Scott shudders again. Eventually he pulls back enough to look Scott in the face. Scott’s dark eyelashes are clumped together, his gaze cloudy and lust-filled. His lips are swollen, from kisses and Scott’s own teeth worrying at the skin. He looks wrecked already and Stiles loves that he did this to the other man, loves that Scott lets him be the one to make him look like this, feel like this. He brings their mouths together for another kiss, sweeter this time, before he pulls away and grabs the leg over his hip to push Scott onto his back once more.

Scott lifts his legs to grab his ankles as Stiles positions a pillow under his lower back before he settles back over him. He finds the discarded lube once again and slicks up his own flushed dick. He rubs the head of his cock against the cleft of Scott’s ass, already so wet and warm and he can’t help but just tease his cock at Scott’s entrance. He doesn’t push in, though, instead finds Scott’s lips. “Are you good?” He can’t help but ask, still needing the other man’s reassurance that he wants this just as much as Stiles, even after years.

Scott just grins goofily up at him and twines a hand into Stiles’ hair. “Yeah. I’m perfect. You make me feel perfect.” Stiles feels the blush color his cheek but presses another kiss to Scott’s lips nonetheless, sliding himself inch by torturous inch into the tight, hot heat of the other man’s body.

Their moans drift out through the open window, into the morning, as their bodies’ rock with the breeze. Stiles moves, slow and deep, angling his thrusts to hit Scott’s prostate every time. He doesn’t want this to last, not today, not right now. He just wants to make Scott feel the way he always manages to make Stiles feel—perfect and beautiful and complete—loved in a way that sears into his soul like a brand. He moves a hand between their bodies and wraps his large palm around Scott’s erection. He thumbs over the slit again and again, before he presses the tip hard against it.

“Stiles. Stiles. I can’t. Too much.” Scott’s eyes are closed, but Stiles can see the tears leaking out at the corners of his eyes. His heart clenches, but he doesn’t slow his hand or his hips, instead just moves down to kiss away the water tracks until Scott looks at him with his wet eyes.

“Shh. I just want to make you feel good, Scotty. Just wanna give you pleasure. Doesn’t it feel good?” Stiles thrusts a little harder and another tear clings wetly to Scott’s eyelashes.

Stiles watches as he swallows hard before he nods. “Y-yes.” Stiles breathes out a shaky breath against Scott’s lips at that and moves his hand faster, wanting—needing—to crest Scott’s pleasure, to make the tears in his eyes go away. He jerks Scott in short, hurried strokes, even as he keeps the thrusting of his hips slow and languid. He knows that this is what Scott likes best—how he likes feeling the dual sensations, how they almost over-stimulate him, how it’s almost too much for Scott to take. Scott is moaning and writhing under him, arms twitching with the effort to keep his legs in their open position.

Stiles reaches his free hand down and presses the tip of a finger against Scott’s stretched rim until it slides inside along with his cock and Scott tenses, tightens around all of him for a long, long moment. He doesn’t even breathe as he cums, almost violently, body trembling and thrashing from the tide of sensation, until he’s spent and gasping in breath after breath, so tight around where Stiles is still moving inside of him. Scott looks so beautiful when he cums, looks so peaceful after that it doesn’t take more than a few more thrusts before Stiles follows Scott over the edge, tiding his own pleasure.

Stiles lets Scott lower his legs before he collapses against the other man’s chest, breathing in his own harsh breaths. Scott’s arms come up after a few minutes to pull Stiles closer to him. He presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ damp forehead. “You’re better than any alarm clock.”

Stiles chuckles, but it comes out as something low, his voice husky from sex. “That the only reason you keep me around, Scotty-boy?”

Scott just hooks a finger under Stiles’ chin to lift his face. Scott’s looking at him with his earth-dark eyes and it feels like Stiles is falling into them all over again. “No,” he whispers, bringing his lips to Stiles’ in a chaste kiss. “Love you.”

A slow smiles pulls at Stiles’ lips before he settles himself back against Scott’s chest, an ear pressed over his heart to listen to its strong life-beat.

Stiles hears the birds still singing their morning song; the curtains on the window move in the breeze, parting to let in the smell of leaves and grass and the hint of rain in the air, damp and sweet and earthy. Stiles shivers, but Scott is there to warm him up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr ([clawstoagunfight](http://clawstoagunfight.tumblr.com/)).


End file.
